


Cutting to the Heart of It

by mothdogs



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who: New Series Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Apologies, Episode: s01e08 Father's Day, F/M, First Kiss, I just really wanted them both to apologize and not act like nothing happened, Making Up, Post-Episode: s01e08 Father's Day, TARDIS Rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-15 00:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothdogs/pseuds/mothdogs
Summary: Rose Tyler has just had one of the worst days of her life; how can the Doctor act like it's business as usual in the aftermath of her father's death--and his own?





	Cutting to the Heart of It

When the Doctor pulled the TARDIS door shut behind them, Rose knew that this time was different. This time there was no ebullience, no triumph at a narrow escape or a job well done. She had just watched her father die twice in one day—lost, then gained, then lost again, a wave going out on the tide. A dull pain pulsed behind her temple and she clenched her jaw.

The Doctor was at the TARDIS controls, tweaking a knob with one hand and easing a lever down with the other, the line of his shoulders relaxed. He was the picture of practiced ease. She stared at him, unaware that her head was shaking. How could he act like nothing had happened? She’d watched _him _die as well, though he didn’t seem worse off for it. The thought threatened to overwhelm.

“I’ll be in my room,” she said, and left. Backs turned to each other as they were, she didn’t see him raise his eyebrows at her hard tone.

Rose threaded her way through the labyrinthine hallways to the room he’d given her. It was larger than her whole flat in London, boasting an enormous bed and several bookshelves packed with books in alien languages. She bee-lined to the overstuffed couch and toed off her shoes, then curled up, bringing her knees in to her chest. A tear tracked down her cheek, but she barely registered it—she’d already spent the better part of the day either crying or wanting to cry.

Staring at a puckered spot on the carpet, absently pulling a thread on the hem of her bluejeans, Rose sat trancelike as scenes from the day’s adventures assailed her memory. She thought of her father smelling faintly of cologne and touching her cheek before dying again; she thought of the Doctor’s stunned face and red ears, his voice full of bitterness and a note of haughtiness that she hadn’t expected; she thought of the black-winged creature in the church and how its claws—its _claws had_—

A quiet knock at the door mercifully scattered this memory. Rose looked up, the ache in her temples beating in time with her heart. _Let him wait_, one nasty part of her sneered, but she found she didn’t want that. Not really. She sighed, then called out, “Yea?”

The Doctor’s head appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in steam from two mugs he was holding. He didn’t seem surprised to see her crumpled and slightly bedraggled state; instead, he proffered one of the mugs, the one with a chipped yellow daisy pattern. “Made some tea, if you’d like.”

With a begrudging half-smile, she waved him come-in. As he settled an arm’s length away on the couch, she drew the mug up to her nose, then closed her eyes briefly as if to draw strength from the scent of lemon and cardamom. 

“Right, so, spill,” he said, then let the sentence hang in the air as he hooked an eyebrow up at her. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Instead of answering, Rose stared into her tea like it was holding secret answers, stared as its surface rippled under the force of a tear drop. _Cripes, crying _again_?_ Or had she never stopped in the first place?

She set the mug down on the floor beside the couch and carefully didn’t look at the Doctor.

“What’s on my mind is,” she said, then stopped. _What _is_ on your mind? What are you, stupid? _She huffed a breath, then, “Well, I didn’t _know,_ did I? I didn’t know about paradoxes and time-fixing monsters! You don’t get to be mad at me for something you didn’t even warn me about!” Her voice cracked as she added, “And I’m not a—I’m not a _stupid ape_.” She frowned and scrubbed a hand at the tears on her cheeks, missing the way guilt and consternation flickered over the Doctor’s face. “And then—with my dad gone, and then _you _gone, and it my fault for not knowing, I thought—I thought—”

The words fell away in her throat. _I thought you were dead. I thought I was all alone again, I thought I did that to you, and you’d never be able to come back_. _I thought I’d lost you and the TARDIS and my father in a day_.

Rose said none of this, only lowered her face to her knees again and wrapped her arms around her head. In the small, dark ball she’d tucked herself into, she might as well have been alone in the universe, just a girl unmoored on a couch in the middle of nowhere.

Except, of course, that she wasn’t alone.

The couch shifted under her as the Doctor moved closer and enfolded her in his arms, his own mug apparently abandoned as well. She heard the creaking of his leather jacket as he held her tightly, and he was warm. _Warm_, she thought, and this warmth swirled into the rest of her disjointed thoughts, all the faces mixed up inside her—she pictured the Doctor, and her father, and Mickey, and even, absurdly, Adam—the men she’d left, the men who’d left her.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” the Doctor murmured, his breath hot on her shoulder. “When I saw the time-fixers, I ran as fast as I could. I already regretted leaving. If something had happened to you—” Again the sentence went unfinished, and he smoothed her hair with one hand instead, twining a blonde strand through his fingers.

“You’re not a stupid ape, Rose, you never were. I should’ve told you about the danger, and I’m sorry.”

Forehead still tucked to her knees, Rose’s eyes opened wide and her face burned. After a moment to process, she unfolded herself, shrugging out of his grip. He leaned back into the couch, the hard set of his mouth unreadable but his eyes endlessly bloody _blue _and searching her face as she looked at him.

“I didn’t,” she said, taking a careful breath, “mean to make you feel like I was _using _you. You don’t owe me anything, not time travel, not fixing mistakes, nothing.” She reached out to find his hand and wound their fingers easily together. “I was actually—what brought my dad to mind was that, well, it’s his birthday. We have the same birthday actually, and it’s today.” Then she chewed her lip. “At least, I think it’s today. If there is still… a today. Y’know.”

The Doctor gave her a lopsided smile, and she returned it.

“Rose Tyler,” he said with a shrug, bobbling his head, “being nine-hundred years old as I am, birthdays have lost a bit of their shine for me. But for _you_—” he said, and stood, pulling her to her feet as well, “I think we can whip something up.”

Lit from behind by softly blinking lights with his six-foot frame drawn into a dancer’s waiting pose, he bowed his head to kiss her outstretched hand. “Will you dance with me?”

She tried to compose a serious face, but her mouth twitched in a smile, and her skin seemed to tingle where he’d kissed her. “What is this, some… sacred ceremonial dance of the Time Lords?”

“Nah, just cutting a rug,” he said, and she laughed and stepped closer to his waiting arms. He spoke to the computer over his shoulder: “TARDIS, play Rose’s playlist, half-volume.”

The sounds of early-millennium soft rock filled the room, and the Doctor held Rose’s right hand in his left, then hooked his other arm around her back and began to lead them through slow circular steps. She followed his lead easily (_As you’ve always done, ever since “Run!”, _she noted with amusement), then cocked her head to listen more closely to one of her favorite Coldplay songs. “Do you have a _whole _playlist for me?”

“Two, actually,” he deadpanned, and she surged forward on her tiptoes and impulsively kissed his cheek, then pulled back, startled in spite of herself.

His hand dropped hers and he ran his fingers over his face as if seared. Still swaying together, he closed his eyes briefly, and she worried she’d done it wrong—too impulsive, too much, wasn’t he always on about her _boyfriends_—but his eyes found hers again with a sly glint.

“You missed.”

A beat, then he smiled for _real_, the first time since this whole mess happened, and it was like clouds parting from the sun. He dipped his head down and Rose brought her own smiling lips to his, and they clung together while the music played and nothing else existed in time or space except for them and this room. They kissed until they were breathless, and then they kissed some more.

***

**Author's Note:**

> This one's dedicated to Gia, who encouraged me to start with Nine. Thanks for getting me hooked :>


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